Chapter 1
Helena kicked the bucket so hard the soapy water splashed across the garage floor and ran under the tires of her white luxury car.
Leo flinched.
My son was eight years old.
He was on one knee beside the wheel, holding a dirty cleaning cloth in both hands like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
“Start over,” Helena snapped. “If you clean badly, you go hungry.”
I heard her from the far end of the estate garage.
At first, I thought I had misunderstood.
I was standing beside two of my bodyguards, reviewing security changes for the weekend.
Then I saw Leo.
Small.
Wet.
Shaking.
Kneeling beside Helena’s car.
My whole body went still.
“Daddy…”
His voice broke before he could finish the word.
I walked toward him.
Slow at first.
Then faster.
Helena stepped between us with a smile that did not reach her eyes.
She swung her car key fob around one finger like this was all amusing.
“He scratched my car,” she said. “Debt gets worked off.”
I looked past her.
Leo’s pants were soaked at the knee.
His hands were red from scrubbing.
His lunchbox sat unopened on the shelf behind him.
I bent down and took the cleaning cloth from my son.
His fingers did not let go at first.
“Leo,” I said quietly. “Look at me.”
He lifted his eyes.
I saw fear there.
Not of the car.
Not of the work.
Of what would happen if I believed her.
That look hit me harder than any bullet ever had.
Helena reached down to grab him.
“Come here. You’re not finished.”
I caught her wrist before her hand touched my son.
The key fob dropped from her fingers and clattered against the concrete.
The garage went silent.
Helena’s face changed.
“Carmine.”
I stood.
“You made my son kneel on concrete and threatened to starve him over a scratch?”
“He needs discipline.”
I looked at the car.
There was no scratch.
Not one.
Then Leo whispered from behind me.
“She did it yesterday.”
May you like
Helena went pale.
“She scratched it herself.”
